Chain Mail
by ncfan
Summary: -Faramir, Denethor, Boromir- A young Faramir asks his father a question.


**Summary**: A young Faramir asks his father a question.**  
Universe**: Books**  
Author's Note**: Because Boromir would never have dared asked Denethor this, because I can't see any woman putting up with her husband wearing chain mail to bed, and because not all Denethor-Faramir oneshots have to be angsty.**  
Disclaimer**: I don't own _Lord of the Rings_.

* * *

What both Denethor and Boromir of Gondor had learned about the youngest member of their immediate family in the last few years was that Faramir of Gondor was especially prone to asking probing questions. Now, as with any other time, was no exception.

It was late afternoon at that time of year that vacillated between spring and summer, without any clouds in the sky to speak of. The weather alternated between pleasantly warm and uncomfortably humid. The library was deserted save for three: Denethor, who was revisiting a long-abandoned Chronicle of Gondorian history, Faramir, who sat at the same table as him and was perusing a tome of lore, brow furrowed in concentration, and Boromir at a table further away, who at the urging of a tutor was presently searching through a Chronicle of military history.

Faramir looked across the table at his father shyly, the question forming on his tongue. What aided his courage greatly in rising to the task this day was that, when absorbed as deeply in a book as he was now, Denethor's lined face did not look nearly as imposing across a banquet table or as forbidding as it did in council.

"Father?"

Denethor did not at first seem to hear him (but the heretofore inordinately bored Boromir looked up, perhaps sensing that Faramir was about to ask their father a potentially dangerous question), so Faramir cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious, and spoke up again. "Father?"

This time, Faramir was able to draw his father's attention, slate gray eyes no longer scanning well-worn pages and instead alighting on his youngest child. "Yes, Faramir?" Today, he was actually quite mild in his manner, not even the hint of a frown marring his features; Faramir, though he was young yet, knew quite well that this was due to the fact that Denethor had not taken counsel of the palantír in some time.

"You mentioned once that you wear a mail shirt at all times, did you not?" Boromir started to watch them more closely at this, stiffening and abandoning the pretense of reading up on Gondorian military history.

This was met with a brisk nod from the Steward of Gondor. "Yes, Faramir. I wish not to grow soft in the latter days of my life."

So he had told any brave enough to venture forth with the question.

Faramir nodded, eyes now keenly earnest. "So you wear the chain mail at all times? Even at night when you sleep?"

Boromir was now wondering whether he should announce that he and Faramir had some urgent business they needed to attend to.

"Yes."

Now, Faramir paused before asking his next question, measuring his words and searching his father's face. "And you… You wore the mail shirt to bed even when… Even when Mother was still living?" he inquired hesitantly.

From across the room Boromir winced, and when several minutes later their father withdrew from the library the boy of seventeen winters saw fit to ball up a piece of vellum parchment and lob it at Faramir's head, hissing _"Idiot!"_ Little brothers really had no common sense, sometimes.

Denethor seemed startled by this inquiry, and both of his sons watched him intently, growing increasingly wary with each moment of silence.

Then, Denethor bestowed a small, wry quirk of the lips—a smile, it took a moment for Faramir to realize; he had so rarely seen such a thing on the Steward's face—on his son, and both Faramir and Boromir heaved a silent sigh of relief. Neither would do so out loud in their father's presence. "No, I did not. Your mother insisted that I remove it when we retired." Denethor was indecipherable. Though he was smiling, his eyes were veiled; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Faramir nodded again, glad to have an answer to the question that had nagged at him for the best part of a week.

Denethor nearly smiled again at the look on his face.


End file.
